Caught in the Undertow
by agentmoppet
Summary: Ten year old Hermione Granger knows that she has to change, but she can't seem to silence the inner voice that refuses to listen to reason. Written for the Quidditch League competition.


**Another for the Quidditch League Competition :) (I SWEAR I WILL UPDATE DARK WIZARDS SOON! I have only one more assignment for uni EVER and then I will be free! Free to post all the fan fiction!)**

 **Prompts (Beater 1 for Wimbourne Wasps – Round 4, Season 3):**

 **Portray the emotion: Lonely [forbidden word: lonely]  
7.(word) tranquil  
15.(song) 'Numb' by Linkin Park  
**

Hermione Granger stared at the paper on her desk. There were numbers on it somewhere, she was sure. They had been there before. But right now she just couldn't see them. Her eyes had unfocused so much that the page had returned to a pristine white.

She lifted her pencil slowly, still staring at the blurred page, and brought it down to solve the math problems. But, of course, there was nothing there to solve. She blinked twice and brought the formulas back into view.

 _I've become so numb._

She shook the thought away and began to write. It was a useless effort. She sat up abruptly and put her pencil down on the desk. Standing up, she moved to her cupboard and began to sort through her clothing, choosing something to wear for the next day.

She cringed when her hands fell on items that were perfectly fashionable and perfectly not her. Still, she drew them out and lay them on the bed, assessing, trying to figure out which outfit might make her feel like she could fit in. Like she belonged.

 _I'm tired of being what you want me to be._

"Argh!" She threw the well-cut jacket down on the bed, as if the violent action could stop her brain from thinking.

Her brain. That was the problem, wasn't it? No matter how quiet she kept, how little she showed her true self, her personality always seemed to force its way through. "The brainiac". "The know-it-all". No matter what she did, everyone ended up getting sick of her sooner or later.

Not that they were cruel about it. Not openly anyway. Just small gestures. Whispers that she couldn't place, somewhere behind her. Someone smiling at her and quickly turning away, so that the second after she smiled back she realised they were actually laughing at her. She was trying to change, she really was. She had stopped putting her hand up in class, and she had even let another girl answer a question when the girl was entirely wrong. Hermione hadn't even corrected her.

But now her brain – her insufferable brain – was rebelling against her careful plan. It didn't want to hide away. It didn't want to be relegated to the shadows.  
 _  
All I want to do is be more like me and be less like you._

"No," Hermione said quietly and somewhat desperately. She stood up and walked out of her bedroom, running quickly down the stairs and out the back door.

"Georgia!" she called over the back fence, standing up on the old tree stump so she could see into the neighbours' yard. "Are you there?"

After a few moments, a young girl of around ten years old, like Hermione, stuck her head out of the back door. Her hands were covered in paint and she looked slightly bewildered.

"Hermione?" she called back, seeing Hermione's head sticking over the fence. "What are you doing?"

Hermione shrugged, although it was an awkward gesture considering how she was hanging from the fence. "Are you busy?" she asked. "I thought we could do something."

Georgia paused. "Sure," she said finally. "Did- did you want to come over and paint with me?"

Hermione beamed and nodded. Quickly she turned and jumped down from the stump and ran next door.

Georgia was already waiting at the front door. She smiled when she saw Hermione coming up the path.

"Come on then," she said, nodding toward her room at the back of the house.

Hermione followed Georgia through the house. She had only been inside a handful of times. Normally when she played with Georgia, it was when they were both outside with the other children who lived on the street. And normally Hermione would be reading, and Georgia would be politely asking questions when Hermione really just wanted to focus. Today, Hermione was determined to be different.

"I'm painting trees," Georgia said, pointing to her sketchbook which was open on newspapers on the floor. She opened the book and tore out a page from the middle, handing it to Hermione. "What do you like to paint?"

Hermione hesitated, not wanting to admit that she rarely painted. "Oh, anything really," she said lightly.

Picking up a brush and choosing a colour at random, Hermione began to draw slow circles on the page, struggling to think of something to say. She was bursting to talk – she loved to talk – but every topic that came into her mind was something that was so distinctly _Hermione_ that she refused to say it.

 _Did you see the osprey that flew by the other day? They only eat fish, so the river must be full again!_

 _Did you know that if you stroke a needle with a magnet, you can magnetise it, just a little?_

 _How long do you think it would take to reach the sun, if we could get there without burning up?_

Instead, she stayed quiet.

"Did you see Josh Langdon the other day?" Georgia suddenly whispered, giggling.

"No," Hermione said, furiously trying to remember what Josh might have done that was so funny.

Georgia looked up at the door quickly before leaning closer to Hermione. "He was mowing the lawn _with his shirt off_!" she collapsed into another fit of giggles.

Hermione froze. What on earth was she meant to say to that? _Well, mowing the lawn does make you quite warm._ No, that wasn't it. _Maybe he forgot he wasn't wearing one._ No, definitely not.

"Oh," she said slowly. "Wish I'd seen that," she finished lamely, in as chirpy a voice as she could manage. She grinned.

Georgia burst into surprised laughter. "I know, right? You missed out!"

Hermione forced a laugh and turned back to her painting. By now it was a mass of swirls that she didn't even remember drawing.

"Oooh, you like abstract art!" Georgia said, leaning over. "I can't do that. Emily can though, you should show her."

Hermione looked up in surprise to see Georgia smiling the most genuine smile Hermione had seen directed at her before. It should have made her feel wonderful. Instead it made her feel sick.

"Yeah, maybe," Hermione said.

"Come round again tomorrow," Georgia said happily, turning back to her painting. "I'll get Em to come over, too."

Hermione made a noise of agreement, and they continued painting and chatting, although Hermione could hardly remember anything they said. Finally, Hermione decided she couldn't take anymore and said she had to leave for dinner.

Georgia didn't seem to notice anything odd, and Hermione escaped without question. Hermione's parents looked at her strangely when she came charging back through the front door, but they didn't say anything as she ran up to her room and secluded herself within.

How could she be in a room full of people and feel more isolated than she did right now?

She sighed and tilted her head back against the headboard of her bed. A strange tapping sound penetrated the fog of her mind, but she ignored it.

Perhaps if she pretended the numbness was tranquillity. That seemed an easy way to fool her brain. Her frustrating, unwaveringly resolute brain.

Yes, that was a good plan. She was not numb. She was tranquil. Peaceful and content to be on her own.

 _Lost under the surface._

And she would just have to learn to silence that part of her brain that would not be silenced.

Decision made, Hermione looked up to locate the source of the gentle tapping that hadn't ceased. She jumped when she noticed the large screech owl sitting on her window sill.

"Well, that's more interesting than an osprey," she muttered to herself, trying to remember whether screech owls were restricted to America or if she had confused her facts.

She sat up slowly and made her way to the window. She leaned close to the owl, wondering if it was injured.

The owl stuck out its leg. Hermione blinked, once, twice. No, she wasn't hallucinating.

Very carefully, she opened the window and reached out to take the letter.


End file.
